foggy images

foggy images floating
along the perpendicular
of the conscious and the subconscious –
i was walking along a long hall
(strange pictures appearing before me)


foggy images of strange rituals
guiding me in my waking hours
appearing in my deep sleep –
strange people,
natives to some strange land,
are dancing joyfully



pieces of peace

i pray unto mars,
the everlasting god of bloodshed,
that he should deal mercifully
with the hearts of the peoples of the world,
but all i receive in return for all of my supplications
is a lake of blood
and a leaking heart

the journey home

(a poem in seven parts)

part, the first

and the moon melted
leaving crescent shaped visions
upon the eyes of all the children

come on, dance with me,
let’s do all the things
that we’ve always wanted to do
but were too afraid to do:
after all, tonight is our very last night alive
just like last night was

part, the second

the personification of death,
the twitching and itching of human flesh,
the knife cuts through the skin
like blood seeps through satin lingerie

the twitching and itching,
oh!  the slow, soft, sensual death –
there was a man in a long black robe,
he lured me to a room,
offering immaculate delights –
the sensuality in his eyes,
the soft madness in his voice,
the madness in my ears:
the truth be told, i must die

oh! bleeding ears,
and decaying eye balls,
decaying body, decaying spirit –
decaying deception

part, the third

i watched him fuck a million women with his tongue,
a million screams trapped in his throat,
a million deities defiled by his hands!

masturbation and the smell of death,
dripping blood and the smell of new born babies,
teenagers rolling around in mounds of death

dripping semen from stab wounds
and desecration of sacred matters

visions of ballerinas
dancing around flaming bodies,
tears falling from the eyes
of the rotten carcasses
while little miss sunshine runs around
searching for her head

psychotic worms crawling around
on the inside of my tongue,
the taste of rubbing alcohol
and the smell of the grim reaper’s cologne

night out on the town,
we’s gonna get real fucked up
we’s gonna go fuck lady liberty
(like, who hasn’t already?)
yeah, we’re gonna
piss on the lawns of the white house
and wipe our asses on your flag

(justice was long ago crushed
under militaristic ass kissing,
justice was exchanged for a
symbolic counterfeit)

part, the fourth

it’s like, the whole damn world
is falling apart, man!
you know what i mean?
we’ve surrounded ourselves
with all these symbols
and we’ve forgotten what’s really real
do you get what i mean, man?

it’s like, being out in the middle of the desert
with a whole bunch of nothing
and no one around
you start seeing things
it’s like you become your own best friend
(the creations of your mind,
your subconscious desires)

i can’t feel your hand, where did you go?

i wanna go home

part, the fifth

it’s been a long time out in the wilderness,
things have changed now,
things aren’t the same now

coming home, you think to yourself,
“hey man, this ain’t my house!
where the hell am i?”

(soft piano music in the background,
devil’s guitar, playing in your head)

ideas resurface in your mind,
corruptions of past perceptions

to taste his kisses straight from the womb,
grows sweeter through the years
passions inflamed, just you and him
all else, vapor sent by the gods

life fucks us all and the grim reaper gets sloppy seconds

(nuestra pequeña muerte)

deep in the pit of the stomach of the beast
even the walls speak,
whispering bloody murder

sanctified virgin sacrificed on lonely alter’s opening

laying out under the egyptian desert’s sun
trying to divine the meaning of divine visions
forming before our eyes

oh, ra, grant to us this day understanding
let us carry the sun in our eyes
let us carry your intentions in our perceptions

part, the sixth

while feasting upon the brains of dead worms
you forgot what true nourishment tastes like upon your tongue

eden: oh, land of eternal youth,
oh, land of my long forgotten youth
i long to know you, to be with you

“i’ll see you on the other side of eden!”

finally, nights are getting shorter,
days are getting longer
the moon, oh, the moon!
i have not had faith except for the moon
and i shall dwell in wisdom
oh, i shall dwell in wisdom
(sun and moon: eternal eclipse)
death: take me, i am yours!

part, the seventh

spirits of the long dead,
poets of rivalry:
i give homage to thee

(ego is a tyrant)

let us resurrect venus and unite her with mars

let’s get drunk under the moon
divinely mad, lunatics
let’s dance under the moon
in our intoxication
let’s make love under the moon,
let’s make love to the moon
let the sun consume our bodies
look: this is me!

sacred madness, divine lunacy, holy folly

naked children running down the road,
old people walking on water and dancing on fire

i want to make love to the angel of death,
i want to feel his heart beat so close to mine –
blood running cold;
body weak and pale, stiff, unmoving

(death comes in soft whispers)

oh death, i long to be absorbed into you,
to be your living memory,
to be in your perfected perfection,
to be in you, to be you

(i closed my eyes,
but you were still there,
i could see you
ever watching, ever waiting)

greek gods, statuesque figures,
come to unite us with the infinite:
infinite possibilities, infinite solutions,
infinite deities, infinite entities

like a strange sojourner in a foreign land
come to worship at his feet
(let’s get drunk and forget why we came here,
reasons are for those with preserved sanity)

Staring into the Abyss

Looking back at my own writing, all the poetry I’ve written over the years, I see that the greatest, the most defining of my work, comes from a place not of intellectual scholarly debate, but of deep-felt emotion. When you write something great, something that is truly profound, that will have an effect, you know it. You have this feeling that can’t quite be explained. It’s almost like standing at the edge of a cliff and staring down into the abyss, an infinite abyss that will penetrate the reader to the core, become a part of him or her.

There’s more to writing than facts and statistics: it’s real, and it’s personal human experience (even fiction). Really great poetry is like a paradox: bringing everything together in a few words that both leaves all mystery open and brings everything together to a climax (again, staring into the abyss).

I could never choose just one single piece that is my favorite. I could compile a collection of several of my favorites, but no single one. Coming to this blog and selecting a piece to start out with posting poetry isn’t a difficult task exactly. I’ve been sharing my poetry online on and off for a number of years now. So, I have a few that I’m quite fond of, and will be sharing on here. And there are always more recent ones that seem most pertinent to be made public.

Alright everyone, ready to jump over the cliff? Come on, let’s go! (Infinity is waiting with open palms).

– Thome

A Story of Monks and Temples


As mentioned in my previous post, I love learning about various languages and cultures. I have not had a lot of opportunities for immersion as of yet, but there are a few very precious times. My first time would have been the trip to the Mexican restaurant that I had with my high school Spanish class. Actually ordering my food in Spanish was a bit of a thrill for the then 18 year old me (this was during my senior year). I have studied Spanish on and off since my high school days.


That was back in my home town. Since moving out on my own to a new state, Florida, I have developed an on again-off again obsession with my local Buddhist Temple. It’s run by Thai monks, and the temple is built according to traditional Thai architecture. On the outside, it is all white except for the roof, which is red. And there are these gold coloured ornamental decorations. I have never asked what they are called and haven’t done a lot of research on them. But from what little I have done, I gather that the decorative area on the roof is called the “lamyong”, and the gold coloured ornaments are call “bai raka”.



On the inside, there is a kitchen area where food is prepared for the monks (the monks themselves do not do any cooking). And there’s the actual Temple which divides the kitchen area from the living quarters of the monks. The inside of the Temple is equally as impressive, if not, then more so! If you look up at the ceiling, there are similar ornaments attached. I don’t know very much about architecture, I find it fascinating, but I tend to immerse myself in culture and language far more, so I cannot very aptly describe the whole style and visual experience of the temple. But I may say, it is a very humbling experience for a lone westerner such as myself, almost like stepping into Thailand!

There is a big statue of the Buddha situated opposite the doors leading outside. Facing the Buddha, to the right is the kitchen, and to the left is the living quarters of the monks. During chanting and meditation services, they sit upon an elevated seat that is along that wall (on the left). I have participated in the chanting and meditation several times. The chanting is in the ancient Pali language (which is a language very similar to Sanskrit, and that originally developed in northern India). The first few times I went, I got lost in the text very easily and could bearly pronounce any of it. Now, I am much better with that, even though, admittedly, I still do not understand very much of it.


Another Buddha statue that sits just outside the Temple in the parking lot.

The chanting is the most beautiful and peaceful thing I have every experienced. It is all done in unison (of course), and the pronunciation, the way the words flow together, the great musical unison of voices, voices chanting in an ancient language – the whole experience brings about an intense feeling of peacefulness. It goes on for about half an hour, and then the lights are dimmed, and we all sink into silent meditation for another half hour. All worries from the secular world are left behind, all there is is this body, this breath, and this moment. All of reality merges into a single moment. The need of clinging is gone, for a short time at least. The time directly proceeding the meditation, I must say, has been my happiest of moments. The intense peace is still there. It’s almost like waking from a sleep that has completely rejuvenated us.

The monks and everyone there are always very nice and they very patiently have guided me in their customs and rituals, training me to observe their culture. One must always sit lower than a monk, one must always bow before departing from the presence of a monk, and one must always bow when giving something to a monk or receiving something. Upon my first ever visit, after the morning chanting and meditation, I was allowed to participate in the ritual offering of food to the monks. One of the other laymen said to me, “I will train you”. And he commenced showing me to proper traditional ritual to offer the food unto the monks. I did as he did: got down on my knees with the tray of food, and moved up to the monks (who were upon an elevated seat, of course) and offered each item to them. And then, as instructed I did a bow, and then moved away and stood up again.

An elderly monk said to me, “Sung-ga-lee, sung-ga-lee!” He kept repeating the word as I stood before him on my knees. I didn’t know what was going on! Had I done something wrong? “I’m sorry”, I said, “I don’t understand…” One of the women (a nun) explained to me the meaning of the word and that he did not speak much English. It is a Pali word, and it denotes one who is training to be a monk. So, it was rather a compliment! “First, you serve them, then you can become one of them. It is a monk-to-be.”

(Note: I’ve tried on a few occasions to find some textual reference to this word, but I have not been successful as of yet. So, as a result, I am not aware of its proper spelling. So, for the purpose of this blog, I have spelled it phonetically, separating each syllable. If anyone finds any error in what is writ herein, please feel free to correct me, I would be most appreciative).


I had read about Buddhism for a few years before ever coming to the Temple, but actually going to the temple and immersing myself in the culture is miles away from merely reading about it! The people I’ve met there are amongst the most accepting and loving that I have ever met. An elderly nun, who bearly speaks any English, once said to me, “I no speak much English… But I love you!” I have no interest in becoming a monk myself, but these are experiences that I shall cherish for a life time!


I haven’t been there in a while now, but I’m sure I will be returning very soon, I can never stay away for very long at a time. And I’m sure that I will be sharing other experiences from there in future entries on here. Until next time,

Sawadee (Thai word used for both greeting and parting),

– Thome

A Further Introductory Note

So, on with the introduction! I am Thome, and I am an aspiring poet and a language/culture enthusiast. I greatly enjoy learning about other languages and cultures. But no, I am not fluent in any others. There are many cultures that I’ve developed obsessions with over the years and I am very apt to develop new obsessions all the time! So much so that sometimes, I think I would make an excellent anthropologist.

I love all things far Eastern and mystical. I love beat poetry, verbose writers like T. S. Eliot and William Shakespeare, the vulgar imagery of Allen Ginsberg, the assault of the mind with multilayered word-images, and the quiet contemplative haiku of Jack Kerouac: nothing delights me more than words, reading and writing!

I have come here to start a new journey in my writing: sharing my delight with life and everything that fascinates me. I look forward to trying my hand at some narrative prose on here, and sharing some of my favourite poetry that I have written, and will write.


– Thome

Ringing in the New Year

So, it is a new year, once again.  And once again, I am pounding away at an old dusty keyboard while a dog is barking outside.  No, I don’t know who’s dog it is.  And I guess the keys aren’t literally dusty, and I don’t recall so much typing on new years day with a barking dog outside in the past, anyway…  But all trivialities aside, it is New Year’s Day and I am starting this blog, a new journey.

I hope to include factual accounts of real life happenings along with my own unique brand of humour, and samples of my poetry on here.  for now, cheers to bring futures yet to come!

Happy New Year, all!

– Thome